At the End of Their Time
by MAVEN Hisakawa
Summary: Between the 20th century and the feudal era, demons had mysteriously dwindled in numbers and vanished from modern world existence with no explanation. What had happened in that few hundred years in between that even the mighty demon lords such as Lord Sesshomaru had disappeared into mere legends and fairy tales?


Black clouds sprawled across the sky, billowing in from the west. Their brassy glare drained color from the blood-soaked grass and tress and burnished swords that lay on a muddy heap on the ground, leaving the whole prairie clearing tinted bronze in the faltering light. The air grew heavy and the humidity presses down, suffocating. The scent of rain is dark and heady. A stillness falls over the hard-packed dirt path, and in the silence came a low crackle of thunder, rolling across cloudy skies to the pattering of tiny raindrops. For a moment, everything stops. Even the wind holds its breath. A streak of hot silver splits the sky, and the downpour began.

Rain fell in crazy, chaotic drops, the gusting wind carrying them in wild vortices one moment and in diagonal sheets the next. It ran down his face as a thin layer, matting his silver hair in splashes of mud and caking blood. From under the unkempt mass of silver peeked eyes of gold that stared quietly at the unfolding storm. His back rested uncomfortably against the bark of a singed tree, it's leafless form giving providing no shelter from the cloudburst. His _moko-moko_ was torn and shredded, dirtied to the point of heavy discoloration and his armor scattered somewhere in the field, likely in a hundred different pieces. He could see what remained of his Bakusaiga where he sat: it's chipped hilt and broken blade, shattered in many pieces, leaving behind shards of cold, hard steel at the heart of the carnage that lay before him.

With a small groan halfheartedly escaping his thinly parted lips, he pushed himself up with one hand, keeping the other over a deep puncture wound right below his left chest. The mud and grit had become enmeshed with raw pink flesh, leaving a throbbing pain in his gut that felt like something was squeezing his organs as tightly as they could. It waned lightly every couple seconds allowing him to move more comfortably, but when it returned, he could only hold still and breathe, breathe slow and deep until it passed. He walked with a slight limp at an almost crawling pace, every step feels like a nail bomb exploding in his innards. Dragging his legs over what seemed like miles of dead, butchered bodies that lay on the battlefield, he kept walking.

The sight of the lifeless imp slumped over what remained of his two-headed dragon dragged the injured demon lord to a stop.

They lay like dolls over the wet grass, limbs at awkward angles and heads held in such a way that they cannot be sleeping. These bodies are now just abandoned shells left to rot in the open. Who will bury them and weep salty tears onto their grave? Likely no one at all, as there will be no one left. He could already picture their bodies consumed by the wildlife while whatever remains after simply decay, slowly giving up their flesh to the soil and showing their white bones to the sun. While his face gave away none of his macabre realization, his free hand clenched tightly on his side, knuckles white. While he never had the reason to ever admit it to himself before, he truly was grateful to fight alongside his humble, loyal companions.

He kept walking, and from there, he had only started seeing more and more familiar faces - corpses of _former_ allies all laying still over the gore of broken weapons and torn body parts, half buried in the mud as lightning teared through the skies, followed by the loud roaring thunder and the cold gusts of wind that only numbed his skin.

It felt like hours later but he finally reached his destination.

There, at the end of the clearing, was another corpse, but one unlike the rest he had just walked through.

He knelt down on one knee, reaching one hand behind her head, the pelting rain washing the dirt off her cheeks as he wrapped his other under her soaked thighs, lifting her from the ground and cradling her deceased body in his arms. The sudden lack of pressure on his wound had let the blood flow thickly from his body, indecently red as any flower in bloom. The blood didn't gush in a constant flow, but in time with the beating of Sesshomaru's heart, making his inevitable death slow and painful. His eyes began to blur and his senses dulled - but even then, he could see her clearly as he held her close to his body, her cold, pale face that once held radiance and warmth like the very sun itself, her closed eyes that once shone like the whole starry night sky was trapped beneath them, and her colorless lips, once red as a field of roses. Her clothes were stained and wet, torn in some areas where sharp blades had nicked her ivory skin. Her hair was a tangled mess, her legs all scraped and cut up from falling, her arms raw red with purple welts that spread across her abdomen like a disease, marking the areas which had broken bone. As his life flashed before his gold-colored eyes, he could only see her smiling face amidst a flowery meadow under the rays of warm sunshine in the most beautiful days of spring, laughing about something Jaken had said sarcastically that had somehow entertained her. Her long shiny black hair flowed gracefully with the softly blowing breeze, her willowy figure framed perfectly by her classic orange yukata that was a personal favorite of hers since childhood.

As his strength began to fade, he sat down, resting his back against a cold stone boulder that he was sure would be his tomb, still holding tightly onto the Rin's cold body in his arms.

He was the last demon standing. With the age of civilization and the invasion from the Western countries across the vast oceans, humanity had decided demons no longer belonged in their world and the had come to claim the lands theirs. War broke forth with _youki_ versus human technology of the far advanced civilizations of the western invaders. One by one, the demon strongholds fell and the massacre of millions began, wiping their existence from the lands in every sweep. Cased inside metal contraptions that was their war machines, humans advanced deep and untouched through the _youkai_ territories, leaving carnage in their wake. Within a few years, demon population dwindled to extinction, the empowered _Japanese_ villagers now executing humans and demons alike that they so much as believed to have _youki_ flowing in their veins.

 _How ironic is it that the same humans that hid in his protection were the same ones quick to draw their blades against his neck?_

The Western territory was the last of the demon thresholds, and this was their final stand. With guns and canons on their side, the human westerners decimated much of their army long before they could even come close. They fought bravely, using guerrilla warfare to their advantage, but alas, countered and outnumbered, it was the end. It was their _apocalypse_.

All the once green lands of the prairie where he sat were no more than ash and charcoal. The air was heavy with the smell of burnt flesh and smoke hung in a haze that obscured the sun. It was a barren wasteland, outside the rows of armored humans looking down from the other end of the field, on raised plateau, their guns aimed to his direction. A man on a horse held his hand high, as if to signal a halt, as he watched the _last_ demon alive get up and drag his dying body over to corpse of the woman he loved, seemingly fascinated by the sentimentality he had probably thought was exclusive to humankind.

Then there was silence. Even the wind and rain felt like they paused in solemn anticipation of his upcoming execution. The silver-haired demon felt his hand grasp at his mate's body harder, pulling her close to him in a tight embrace, his face buried against her neck, his body trying to memorize as much of hers as he could - the musky odor of soil caked on her skirt, the tender flesh that was bruised beyond repair, the cold, wet lips against his own as he took one last farewell kiss from her lifeless form. Water poured down his face but he wasn't sure if it was tears or rain - either way, it didn't matter anymore.

The human general put his hand down and a gunner raised his weapon, the cold metal so close to his face with his hand on the trigger, ready to shoot.

"I'm coming to find you, Rin."

The _daiyoukai_ held his breath as the loud bang pierced and the air shattered. Then it was silent once more as everything turned black.


End file.
